


Crashing Cars

by inqwex



Series: Episode Tags [2]
Category: Station 19 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 06:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17893349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inqwex/pseuds/inqwex
Summary: Written pre-airing of 2.08, in anticipation of what might happen that episode.





	Crashing Cars

**Author's Note:**

> Who can't wait for 2.08? Me either. That measly fifteen second clip made me write this...hope you enjoy :)  
> (Hopefully we get a proper teaser trailer!)
> 
> Rating for language.

He woke with a groan.

All Robert could remember was the aid car sliding dangerously across the road, and reaching over to try to help the shouting Herrera hold the wheel.

He glanced over. “Herrera?”

She groaned a little, but was obviously still out of it. He began a mental check of himself.

His head felt a little woozy, but he didn’t think it was too bad. He didn’t remember the crash itself, but he remembered the car sliding out on the road. His neck wasn’t sore and it could turn side to side without issue. Breathing okay, abdomen wasn’t sore.

His legs. He couldn’t feel his legs.

Robert repressed the automatic feeling of panic he felt, closing his eyes and forcing himself to take a couple of deep breaths.

He couldn’t move his feet.

“Herrera?” he asked again, looking over to see the lieutenant stir.

“Captain?” she asked, sounding a little groggy. “What happened?”

“We slid out,” Robert replied, peering out the windscreen. It looked like they were on their side down an embankment. A steep embankment. He guessed you could call it a cliff. “Ran off the road.”

“Shit,” Herrera said.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I think so,” she replied. “I feel a little groggy but I’m okay. Neck’s okay. Back’s okay. Not particularly sore anywhere. You?”

He took a deep breath. “I can’t feel my legs.” He was pretty proud of how calm he sounded.

“Shit,” Herrera swore again, her expression immediately changing to a mixture of horror and fear and sympathy.

“Our patient,” he urged. “Shannon?”

A muffled groan from the back answered him. Herrera unbuckled her seatbelt.

“Careful,” he warned.

“I know,” she snapped back at him. He gave her a look, and she recoiled a little. “Sorry.”

He sighed. “Just…watch where you step. The gear will be everywhere; sharps, potentially everywhere.”

Her expression cleared a little. “Yeah,” she said, stepping carefully out of her seat, and walking along the bottom of his towards the back. There’s a muffled conversation Robert couldn’t hear well, and he focussed again on trying to feel his feet.

“She’s sore,” Herrera reported, making her way back to the front. “But conscious. I don’t think she sustained any further injuries.” Her voice dropped. “I’m worried about her leg.”

“I’m going to try dispatch again,” Robert said, nodding. He was worried about the leg too. He was unsurprised when the radio crackled uselessly back at him.

He didn’t need to glance at Herrera to know that like him, she was pulling out her phone. He had no reception, and from the frustrated noise she made, she clearly didn’t either.

“Looks like we’re stuck,” he said.

* * *

 

Maya hung up the phone with a sigh. She figured Andy was busy with transporting her patient, but she needed to talk to her about it.

She was thrilled to be promoted. She really was. But the thought of leaving 19, the thought of having to go to 23 (Vic wasn’t alone in calling them the slugs of the department) was sobering.

So really, mixed emotions.

“Here you are,” she looked up to see Vic approaching, hands in her pockets.

“Here I am,” Maya parroted.

Vic leaned on the rail next to her. “Congratulations,” she said earnestly.

“I don’t know how I feel about it,” Maya confessed.

“I bet he’s sending you to 23 to fix them,” Vic said with a shrug.

“You think?” Maya asked.

“Are you crazy?” Vic asked with her customary lack of tact. “Of course, I bet he's been planning this. Ripley told you ages ago to apply, right?” She paused for a moment. “Bishop, come on, you didn’t think that if you got promoted you could stay here, right? We’ve got enough lieutenants.”

Maya had to be honest, she hadn’t really thought about it properly.

“You’re an idiot,” Vic clearly read it off her face.

“Oh gee thanks for the support,” Maya said sarcastically.

“No. I didn’t mean…look, we’ll miss you. I’ll miss you. But it’s not like we’ll suddenly stop being friends because you now work a few blocks away,” Vic said pragmatically. “Plus you and Herrera live together, so it’s not like you’re going to lose your best friend or anything.”

“I feel like this wasn’t much of a pep talk,” Maya said, eyes narrowed.

“But it helped anyway?” Vic said with a winning grin.

“You’re the worst,” Maya accused, but slung her arm around her friend and gave her a half-hug. “Thanks, Hughes.”

“Any time, Lieutenant,” Vic mock-saluted. “Now come on. Warren wants us all at Friendsgiving.”

Maya followed the younger woman back to the dining room. Captain Herrera had joined them, sitting at the head of the table next to Ripley.

 “Where’s Gibson?” Maya asked as she sat down. “And Tanner for that matter?”

“Gibson’s having a bit of a lie down,” Captain Herrera reported.

Maya felt Hughes shift next to her, and she looked up to see Vic look at Warren who looked at Dean who looked at Travis. Ripley looked at Vic, and Captain Herrera looked at Ripley.

Grant seemed oblivious, simply taking another bite of turkey.

Then Warren exchanged a glance with Dean, who looked at Vic who looked at Travis, then looked at Ripley.

“That’s good,” Dean said, obviously trying to cover the awkward moment.

“He doesn’t get much sleep,” said Warren at the same time.

“He doesn’t get much sleep?” Ripley obviously picked something up in Warren’s tone, and he looked over sharply, glancing away from Vic for the first time.

The conversation was interrupted as Tanner walked back into the room.

* * *

 

“We can’t just sit here, trying the radio,” Herrera said in frustration.

“You can feel the storm buffeting the car,” Robert pointed out. “It’s not safe to get out, yet, this thing could still potentially roll – I have no idea what we’re resting on.”

“They won’t know where to look,” Herrera said, clicking her phone on and off again.

“They won’t be looking yet,” he said. She froze.

“What?!”

“Chief Ripley will ground the FD,” Robert predicted.

“He can’t do that!”

“Look, our aid car was pushed over the side of the road. The ladder and the engine are much more top heavy. The roads are blocked. Can you imagine the carnage that could be caused by ladders or engines rolling?” Robert pointed out. “This aid car, fully kitted, is around a quarter of a million dollars. The engines and ladders are far more expensive. Quite apart from how much money they cost, he also won’t want to risk the lives of those in them unless he has to. He’ll wait for the storm to calm a little, before sending people out. Not to mention; given the lack of reception, they don’t even know who’s missing to commence a SAR.”

He couldn’t help but be impressed at the stream of invectives that Herrera lets out.

* * *

 

Ryan was trailed by Greg, and Pruitt narrowed his eyes at them.

“Thanks for inviting me to Friendsgiving,” Ryan said awkwardly to Dean, before glancing at Pruitt. “But we’ve got to go to the police station.”

“I’m under arrest,” Greg said with a mixture of annoyance, pride, and sarcasm in his tone.

The group collectively gasped.

“So, enjoy your meal,” Ryan said.

“Feel free to drop back around,” Pruitt told the younger man firmly, feeling somewhat sorry for him. “You’re welcome any time.”

Tanner nodded, but Pruitt knew the younger man wouldn’t come back to the station today. He hoped that he’d gotten the message to drop by his house later.

There’s a buzz as everyone returned to their meals. He could hear Grant beginning to fill the team on what had happened while they were out of the station.

Chief Ripley, however, turned to him.

“Herrera?” he said quietly.

Pruitt eyed the younger man. He was somewhat fond of Ripley, although he maintained his reservations about the Chief’s youth.

“Do I need to bench him?” Ripley asked softly, under the burble of conversation. Pruitt’s pretty sure that, despite Ripley’s quiet tone, he could see Hughes listening in.

“Let us have a word with him,” Pruitt requested, and is a little surprised to see Ripley slowly nod and turn back to his lunch.

* * *

 

“I can’t hear the wind as much anymore,” Herrera reported around her muesli bar. Sullivan swallowed his mouthful.

“No, I think it’s clearing,” he agreed.

“I’m going to look,” she said, putting the rest of the muesli into her mouth. She took a deep breath, and pushed her door as hard as she could. It swung back at her twice before she was able to push it far enough for it to stay open.

They both squinted outside in the fading light. The wind had definitely eased, which was a good thing.

However, they really had gone off a cliff, and that was a very bad thing. Robert half-heartedly tried the radio again, but with no success.

“We’re too far down for signal,” he said, shaking his head.

“My phone’s got no reception here either, but if I can get up to the road…” Herrera said thoughtfully, looking up towards the road.

“It’s too risky,” Robert said immediately. “We’d be leaving our victim.”

“We’re down on food and water,” she retorted. “And me being here won’t help Shannon if nobody comes for us. She needs a hospital.”

Robert knew she was right.

“I can’t feel my legs,” he reminded her. “If you get hurt, I can’t come after you.”

“I can do this,” she said firmly.

“Supply up,” he ordered. “Take water, head-torch, rope.”

By the time she’d gathered her gear, given Shannon an extra dose of morphine, and put another muesli bar and the last bottle of water next to him, it had gotten dark and he watched in concern as she clambered out of the aid car.

* * *

 

Jack felt no more rested when he opened his eyes.

Well, that might have been a bit of a lie. He felt marginally more rested. He glanced at his watch, and swore when he saw how late it was. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten. Hoping there would be leftovers, he stepped out of the bunkroom and headed towards the dining room.

Only to find his entire team sitting there, in the middle of a serious looking conversation.

“Sit down, Jack,” Captain Herrera said firmly.

“What’s going on?” he said as lightly as he could, willing his cheeks to not redden at his Captain’s knowing gaze.

“We’re worried about you, man,” Dean spoke up. “You hardly sleep.”

“You’re up at all weird hours,” Warren added. “Listening to … music?”

“You know, we’ve been busy,” Jack tried to deflect.

“Yeah, most people sleep if they’ve been busy and they’re tired,” Bishop pointed out sharply.

“Grant told us about you getting into Tanner senior’s face,” Montgomery added. “Gibson –”

“What about you, Hughes?” Jack asked, almost accusingly, as he looked at the one person who hadn’t said a word. He was a little embarrassed to admit that for a moment – and it was only a moment – he was tempted to spill her secret in order to take the attention off him.

She reddened a little beneath his gaze, biting her lip. She was clearly worried that he was about to do just that.

“We’re a family, Gibson,” she said firmly. “We need to look out for each other. You aren’t yourself.”

Well. It was hard to know what to say to that.

Fortunately for Jack, the entire scene was interrupted by the Chief racing in. He looked concerned, in a way Jack hadn’t seen him since…

Well.

The skyscraper.

“A19 is not responding to dispatch,” he said, his concern apparent. “We need a search and rescue. Let’s go.”

Everyone immediately pushed their chairs back with a screech. Jack went to join them, but his sleeve was caught by Ripley.

“Sir,” Jack said tightly. “You can't bench me, Andy got me out of the skyscraper…”

“Pruitt?” Ripley didn’t even look at him, despite the faint hint of accusation underneath Jack’s tone.

“You’ll need the hands, Lucas,” Captain Herrera said, looking at him. “But Jack…”

“You’re riding with me, Gibson,” Ripley said, in a tone that clearly would brook no nonsense. The three of them followed the rest of the team down. Most of them were in their turnouts already.

“Gibson, Montgomery, with me on the ladder,” Ripley ordered. “Bishop, you’re acting lieutenant. Take the others on the engine, we’re all going to head to the call site and cover their route away. We know that they got to the site and picked up their patient. Dispatch told them all the roads to Grey Sloan were blocked, but they never replied to that. They could be anywhere along the route; we’ll all head there and then split up. Be careful.” The last couple of words were clearly directed more at Hughes, and Jack rolled his eyes at her as she beamed at Ripley.

“Sir,” Bishop practically saluted.

They hopped into the ladder – which was missing the windscreen.

“What happened to the -?” Jack asked, pointing at the windscreen.

“Tree,” Ripley said shortly. He glanced over at him. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

“Is now really the time?” Jack gritted his teeth.

“It was like 9/11,” Ripley said, as Montgomery drove them out of the station. Jack glanced toward the Chief, whose jaw was clenched. “I was in New York. The skyscraper a few months back felt just like it. The explosion was louder in Manhattan, but I think the smoke at ours was worse because it was smaller. The skyscraper brought all the memories of 9/11 back and they sort of mixed together. I had nightmares for weeks. The skyscraper was tough for me – I knew there were people in the building and it was on my call that we evacuated anyway.”

Jack wasn’t sure what to say as Ripley paused, rubbing his beard.

“It was the only call I could have made,” Ripley said with a sigh. “But I know it doesn’t change your experience.”

“I’m fine,” Jack said, knowing that he wasn’t going to be believed. “A few nightmares, sure, but –”

“PTSD is treatable, Jack,” Ripley interrupted, turning his head to look at him. “And it doesn’t have to affect your career; I made Chief anyway.”

Somehow having someone say the letters out loud made Jack feel weirdly relieved.

As did the implication that Ripley had PTSD as well.

“You don't have to feel this way, Jack,” Ripley said. “Once this shift is over, I’ll put you on paid medical leave. If you want to speak to a psychologist not directly affiliated with the SFD, you can, but Ricky and Maria have worked a lot with firefighters and they understand our context uniquely.”

“And you should come to the peer support group,” Travis spoke up for the first time during the conversation. “I’ve found it really helpful after nearly dying in that place. I think Vic’s found it helpful too.”

“I didn’t realise Vic went as well,” Jack said mildly, looking at Ripley’s expression close over.

“Who attends is not something that I encourage people to advertise,” Ripley said pointedly. “I go every week.”

“Vic wouldn’t mind me saying that,” Travis said easily. “Jack’s family.”

They arrived at the scene, then and hopped out to look at the area. A blue car was askew across both lanes of traffic under the underpass.

There was no sign of the aid car, the victim, or Andy.

“Bishop, take the engine and head towards Grey Sloan checking the route,” Ripley ordered. The engine started to pull away. The three of them headed back to the ladder.

“We don’t know if they heard that the roads to Grey Sloan were blocked. They might have heard, in which case the next nearest hospital is –” Ripley began, flattening a map of their area on the side of the ladder. Jack shone a torch so they could see, and pointed.

“Here, so if we assume they went this way…”

Halfway along the road Jack had pinpointed, they saw with their high beam lights skid marks on the road. More accurately, Travis spotted them, and pulled over.

“Lights,” Ripley ordered, somewhat unnecessarily, and the three of them quickly pulled out and turned on their high beam torches.

Jack’s heart leapt into his throat as he saw the overturned aid car.

“Radio it in,” Ripley said to Travis, who hurried back to the car. Ripley shrugged off his jacket. “All right, let’s harness up.”

Intellectually Jack knew that he and Ripley were harnessed in quickly, but it felt like it had taken forever. Travis had hooked Ripley up to the ladder, and was personally belaying Jack, at Ripley’s order.

As they got away from the noise of the ladder and down below the road, they heard a faint moaning.

“Sullivan!” Ripley yelled, just as Jack called for Andy.

“Here,” a faint cry came, and the two men exchanged looks, rapidly feeding out their lines in the direction of flashes of light. They pulled up next to a rock, and found Herrera curled up there.

“Jack,” she gasped.

“Andy,” he didn’t bother to think about how it might look before folding her into a hug. “You okay?”

“Herrera, what happened?” Ripley asked. “Sullivan - ?”

“We came off the road,” she replied, hanging onto Jack. He tightened his arms around her. “The storm – the wind, it was just too much. Sullivan’s in the aid car. He…he can’t feel his legs.”

“Fuck,” Jack cursed, looking at the Chief who, even in the torchlight, had paled.

“You injured, Herrera?” Ripley asked.

“I twisted my ankle,” she admitted. “I don’t think it’s broken, but I couldn’t put any weight on it.”

“Trying to climb this mountain in the middle of the night,” Ripley shook his head.

“Shit, Andy,” Jack agreed. “You’re crazy.”

“Herrera stubbornness,” Ripley said. “All right, Gibson, let’s rope her to you and we’ll get Montgomery to lift you both up. Do a full assessment on her when you get up there; I’ll keep going down to Sullivan and scope out the situation.”

“Our victim, Shannon, is in the back,” Andy said as Ripley helped Jack secure Andy to him. “She broke her leg in a hit and run, and she had compartment syndrome. We did an in-field fasciotomy, but the morphine’s low.”

“Gibson, winch down some more analgesia for me,” Ripley ordered, before reaching for his radio. “Montgomery, we’ve got Herrera. She seems to be okay. Winch Gibson up, she’s with him. Ask dispatch to send us three aid cars.”

“Sir,” the relief in Travis’ voice was audible. “Andy, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

* * *

 

 

Robert rested his head against the back of his seat. Under his direction, Herrera had set up an extension line of IV tubing that could reach him, and given him their stock of morphine so he was slowly able to bolus Shannon with pain relief as she needed it. The lidocaine had long since worn off.

“Still with me, Shannon?” he asked.

“Yeah,” came a groan. “My pain’s okay.”

“Good.”

It was quiet in the aid car. Without being able to go back and properly monitor her, Robert was being pretty cautious with his dosing.

Not to mention, they were low on morphine.

Rocks clattered outside, and he heard a clank as someone – or something – stood on the side of the aid car. The door opened, and Robert winced away as a bright head lamp shone in through the door.

“Herrera?” he asked.

“Sully,” Robert had never thought he’d be happy to hear Rip’s voice but here he was.

“Rip, I can’t feel my legs,” despite himself, fear was clearly evident in his tone.

“I know, Bobby,” Luke’s voice was soft, and had more than a hint of fear. “We picked Herrera up halfway up the slope. Shannon? My name is Lucas, we’re here to get you out.”

“Thank god,” came Shannon’s voice. “This is the worst birthday ever.”

Ripley gave a strained chuckle. “Yeah, I bet. Okay, sorry, Sully, I’m going to shine the torch towards you again – we’ll just open the back doors and winch Shannon up, but I need to see how we’ll get you out.”

Robert squeezed his eyes shut, and felt fingers at the back of your neck.

“Is this sore, man?”

“No, my head and neck are fine,” Robert replied. “Breathing’s fine. I think the seat came forward and crushed me?”

“Can you move either foot?”

Robert shook his head.

“Fuck,” uncharacteristically, Lucas swore. “I agree, Sully, the seat’s trapped you. You’ve possibly got a crushed pelvis. We’re going to have to cut that side of the aid car out and, I think, cut away this bit of the dash.”

“Backboard and pelvic binder,” Robert completed the plan.

“Yeah,” Lucas replied. “I’m waiting on the engine – me, Gibson and Montgomery came in the ladder.”

“Get Shannon out first,” Robert said. “We did that fasciotomy hours ago.”

“I’m going to check on her now,” Ripley promised. “You in any pain?”

“No,” Robert said. “I wish I were.”

He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll get you out, Bobby,” Lucas promised, and then he and his light moved on to the back.

Robert wished he could say that what happened next felt like it took no time at all.

It took forever.

Shannon had been extricated pretty quickly by Hughes and Gibson, who had been dispatched to take her and Herrera to Grey Sloan (the roads were now open, apparently). But cutting him out took ages, mostly because they had to take the equipment down the mountain.

“Ow,” Robert hissed as Miller and Ripley slowly slid him out onto the backboard.

“Where did that hurt?” Ripley asked immediately.

“My…my hips,” Robert said. He could see hope dawn on Lucas’ face.

“Wriggle your toes?” the other man asked, and Robert tried to look down at his feet to see if they were moving.

“I can feel you touching my calf,” Robert said. “It’s light, but it’s there.”

“Your foot looks like it’s twitching, Bobby,” Ripley said with a grin. “All right, let’s get this pelvic binder on.”

“Luke?” Robert asked as his former best friend and Chief buckled the binder around his groin. “Thanks. For being here. I’m…I’m glad it was you.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Ripley said quietly. “Now, let’s get you to a hospital.”

* * *

 

Lucas was exhausted, running purely off caffeine and relief that he hadn’t actually lost any firefighters to the storm. There were five in hospital (excluding Herrera, who had actually just had a twisted ankle). They’d lost one patient that might have survived on a normal day, and Sully and Herrera’s patient was still possibly going to lose the leg. They’d lost an aid car, 19’s ladder’s windshield hadn’t been the only windshield loss, 88’s engine had rolled through an intersection, and there was damage to a number of fire station buildings proper.

While expensive, it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared.

“All right? Thanks, Mick,” he finished handing over to Reynolds – he needed to go home and sleep.

A knock sounded at the door, and he absently told them to come in as he finished scribbling down another note on his to-do list (look at personnel and shuffle while waiting for new vehicles).

He looked up to see Victoria, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Hi,” she said, looking nervous.

“Hey,” he replied.

There was an awkward pause.

“Good result today,” she said, drifting closer to the desk.

“Yeah, it was. Good team,” he said. He took a deep breath, and launched into the spiel he’d been mentally rehearsing. “I wasn’t entirely honest, earlier. I could’ve gone to 23, it was equally central to the storm. But I did kind of want to see you too. I’m sorry, I needed to be more…professional than that.”

“And I shouldn’t have talked you into…well…the turnout room,” she blushed slightly, and Lucas felt his heart flip.

“Well, I’m not actually going to complain,” his voice is embarrassingly gravelly. “But we need to … I want to see you _outside_ work, not at work.”

“I’d like that too,” she smiled gently at him.

“I think we need some guidelines,” he suggested, picking up his pen again and starting to scribble them down.

_No closed doors_

_No touching_

_No flirting._

He watched as she read them and nodded.

“Oh, and,” he quickly added, _you can’t yell at me at work_.

She smirked, moving away back towards the door. “I’ll try on the last one.”

He rolled his eyes fondly at her, grinning back. “That’s all I can ask.”

“Thanks, Chief,” she said more loudly as footsteps came down the stairs. She headed out the door, joining her team.

A few minutes later his pocket buzzed.

_See you tonight? Mine?_

_What time?_

_Whenever you’re done._

He was smiling at his phone when another knock sounded at the door.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Gibson asked, dressed in his civvies.

Lucas grabbed a sheet of paper from Sully’s desk, and scribbled a few numbers on it.

“This is the SFD’s counselling office,” he said. “I want you to ring and make an appointment. You’re not coming back to work until I have a letter from them or a private counsellor – your choice – that you are fit for duty.”

“Yes sir,” it’s clear Gibson didn’t like it, but Lucas had no intention of providing the other man with any say.

“Is there anything else?” Lucas asked, as the lieutenant hesitated.

“We’re a tight knit crew, sir,” he said finally. “I’d do anything for them, even talk to some shrink. It’s like, Miller’s a brother…”

He paused, looking directly at Lucas. “Hughes, like a bratty little sister. But if anyone messed with her or took advantage of her…”

The threat was clear, and Lucas felt a chill run down his back. He couldn’t think how Gibson figured it out, and he mentally ran through every interaction he’d had with the man that shift.

“She’s terrible at keeping secrets,” Gibson’s voice dropped. “And she really needs to change her caller ID settings.”

“The conditions of your leave won’t change,” Lucas forced himself to say through dry lips.

Gibson looked confused a moment. “I’m not…I figure it’s not my business because I found out by accident. I’m just letting you know how things stand. If there’s a work related problem or if she gets hurt, then I will make it my business.”

Lucas nodded. That was fair. "Call a counsellor, Gibson. I want you better."

"Sir," Gibson pivoted smartly on his heel, leaving Lucas in Sullivan's office.

He rubbed his beard thoughtfully.


End file.
